


A Twelve Days' Mystery

by El Staplador (elstaplador)



Category: Alpennia Series - Heather Rose Jones
Genre: 1820s, Alchemy, Blackmail, Canon-typical religious observance, Christmas, F/F, Femslash, Masquerade, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 12:11:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17043503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elstaplador/pseuds/El%20Staplador
Summary: Christmas 1824, and the twelve days of festivities ought to be a period of frivolity and respite for everyone who isn't expected to be at the New Year's court, and even for those who are. But that was before someone from Jeanne's past reappeared... with a problem.





	A Twelve Days' Mystery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thereinafter (isyche)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isyche/gifts).



> This story begins on Christmas Day 1824, part-way through _Mother of Souls_. (The season is described, in Luzie's point of view, thus: “Christmas passed, with its familiar rituals, then the New Year, celebrated more in the upper town with its balls and concerts revolving around the glittering court.”) It assumes knowledge of _Daughter of Mystery_ and _The Mystic Marriage_ , and has oblique references to some spoilers in _Mother of Souls_.

_Christmas Day_

It was a cold, crisp, morning, with a new fall of snow masking the mud and slush of the Rotenek streets. The sound of the organ seeped out, and the joyful racket of the bells spilled across the square from the cathedral. There had been a little knot of people clustered around the Tiporsel House pew, all of them wanting to wish a merry Christmas to Barbara or Margerit or the Pertineks, and it was a few minutes before they emerged from the cathedral to join Jeanne and Antuniet on the steps.

'My dears,' Jeanne said, 'I've hardly seen either of you for months. You must have been busy!'

'I'd hoped to be busier,' Margerit said with a regretful smile.

'Oh?' Jeanne raised her eyebrows.

Barbara explained, 'Margerit has been working on a new mystery.'

'It was Antuniet's layered gems that gave me the idea,' Margerit said. 'What if a mystery doesn't have to be completed within a single ceremony? What if one could build it up over several days? One section to invoke protection, one to ask for healing, one for peace, one for the blessing of the work itself, and so on. And Christmas seemed the ideal time to do that. First, there's the clustering of saints' days: Saint Estefen the servant; Saint Iohen and Saint Angela, the mystics; King Tavit; and so on. And then everyone who's needed is in Rotenek anyway: it wouldn't be like trying to do something for Mari Maitelen or Iakup...' She trailed off, belatedly aware of her own enthusiasm.

'The only problem,' Barbara said with a fond grin, 'is that all the guild members have prior engagements, not to mention the New Year's Court. You couldn't squeeze another ceremony in with a shoehorn!'

'Well, perhaps next year,' Margerit said wistfully. 'It isn't nearly ready yet, anyway.'

She looked tired, Jeanne thought; it was perhaps as well that the scheme had come to nothing this year.

  
_Saint Estefen_

'Marien, for your good sense and your patience, as ever...'

The household was gathered in the hall. Jeanne stood a few steps high on the staircase, so that she could be seen by everyone, and was handing out the boxes to the staff when someone knocked at the door. She glanced towards it; so did Tomric. She shook her head. 'Let them wait. Henirik, you are a most welcome addition to this household, and I trust you're making yourself at home. This is for you.'

But the knock came again, more urgently. Jeanne sighed. 'Very well.'

The entire household watched as Tomric walked to the door and opened it. A woman tripped through it, the hem of her cloak streaked with mud, and her eyes flickered nervously from one side to the other. She was clearly dismayed by the presence of the servants, but just as reluctant to leave the sanctuary of the house.

Instinctively, Jeanne stepped forward as if this were a perfectly ordinary time and day and manner in which to pay a call, and, stepping forward, recognised her. 'Tulzie! It's been a long time...'

Antuniet glanced between then; her eyes narrowed a little, but she said nothing. Tulzie looked at her without hostility and without curiosity, and turned her attention back to Jeanne. 'I need your help,' she said. 'I'm sorry. I didn't know where else to turn.'

The servants made themselves scarce, all except Tomric, and Jeanne made a mental note to thank them for their tact later. Antuniet pulled her elaborate watch from her pocket. 'I must go,' she said. 'This isn't something that Anna can do alone, and it must be done within the hour.' She touched her fingertips to the glowing red stone she wore at her throat, in a gesture that told Jeanne that, absent company, there would have been a kiss. Jeanne rather resented Tulzie's visit on that ground alone, but she said, 'Come in, my dear, and tell me all the news.'

Tulzie stood like a dressmaker's mannequin in the hall, having to be prompted by Tomric to shrug out of her coat. 'I didn't know what to do,' she said dully, 'and eventually I thought, well, you might have an idea, and anyway, you'd hear sooner or later.'

Jeanne felt a chill pass through her, summoned as much by the tone as by the words. 'Come, sit down,' she said, 'and Tomric will bring us coffee, and you can tell me all about it.'

Tulzie followed her into the front parlour. Jeanne indicated a seat; obediently, Tulzie sat in it.

The coffee appeared with miraculous swiftness, and Tomric closed the door behind him a little more pointedly than was strictly necessary. Tulzie relaxed; but her hand trembled a little as she took the cup.

'There,' Jeanne said. 'Now, tell me what the matter is.'

Tulzie blinked. 'I... I don't know where to begin, exactly. I suppose... Do you know Cheristofer Marzin?'

'The explorer?'

'I suppose you could call him that.' Tulzie chuckled, but it was a harsh sound, with no humour in it.

'I knew his wife,' Jeanne said. 'Before she was his wife. I have never been introduced to him.' She thought briefly of Iudiz and that unexpected Floodtide, years ago.

'Ah,' said Tulzie. 'That makes it easier to explain.' Even so, she was silent for a long time before she said, 'Cheristofer Marzin has something, and somebody wants it. And they think that I am in a position to persuade Iudiz Marzin to give it to me.'

'And – forgive me, my dear – are you?'

An expression that might have been regret crossed Tulzie's face. 'Perhaps I should have said, they think that I could put myself in that position again.'

Jeanne stirred her coffee thoughtfully. 'And this somebody thinks that they are in a position to persuade _you_ to put yourself in that position?'

'They are,' Tulzie said miserably. 'Jeanne – they have your letters.'

Well, Jeanne supposed, it was her own fault for having written them. The passage of the years had taught her better. 'My letters to you can hardly tell Rotenek anything it doesn't already know. I take it that _you_ would find it embarrassing were they to be published.'

Tulzie nodded fast. 'Yes. You see – I'm engaged.'

It was a surprise, but no more so than anything else about Tulzie's visit. 'Engaged? My dear! Congratulations.'

Tulzie smiled bleakly. 'Thank you. I won't deny... it's been more than I hoped for. Until now.'

'Who's the gentleman?' Jeanne asked it with deliberate casualness, but the answer would be important. For some men, a fiancée's scandalous past with the scandalous Vicomtesse de Cherdillac might have its attractions. For others, it would certainly be the opposite.

'Estevart Lindel,' Tulzie said, and despite everything a quiet glow of happiness suffused her face when she said it.

Jeanne nodded. She knew the man by sight and by reputation. It was, she thought, possible that he would be prepared to laugh the whole thing off, but she would not have counted on it. She said, experimentally, 'Suppose you were to tell him everything?'

Tulzie flinched. 'I couldn't. Jeanne, please.'

Jeanne abandoned that possibility. 'So tell me. You had the letters in a safe place, I take it. When did you discover that they were missing?'

An expression of outrage appeared briefly on Tulzie's face, and disappeared as quickly. 'You'll forgive me for saying that, as an affianced woman, I had no reason to reread them. So it was not until I received a note saying that this... person had them, and that they would require Marzin's document in exchange. Then, of course, I went to look – and they were gone.'

'You have this note.'

'Yes.' Tulzie's hands tightened upon her reticule. 'But it won't tell you anything. There was a charm upon it, and the words disappeared after the third time I'd read them.'

Jeanne laughed. 'I wish I'd known that trick fifteen years ago. In all seriousness, though, it may still tell us something. I have friends who have certain skills. And who,' she added hastily, 'are very discreet.'

Reluctantly, Tulzie unfastened her reticule and handed Jeanne a sheet of paper, with a broken disc of wax affixed. Jeanne looked it over and saw that it indeed appeared to be blank. Margerit might be able to make something of it, she thought.

'Have you any idea as to how the letters might have been abstracted?'

'Oh, I know _that_ ,' Tulzie said. 'My previous lady's maid left very suddenly. I've had enquiries made, but nobody's heard of her. And her references now appear to have been false.'

'Indeed,' Jeanne said thoughtfully. 'Well, my dear, I shall see what I can do about it. You may leave it with me.'

Tulzie bit her lip. 'But Jeanne, you don't understand. This person – whoever it is – wants me to hand over Marzin's document at the Twelfth Night masquerade ball.'

'Oh?' Jeanne said. 'Well, _chérie_ , you will find that a lot can be done in eleven days.'

  
_Saint Iohen_

Margerit frowned at the paper. 'It's a charm,' she said. 'But you knew that. The question is how to restore its original message, and I don't immediately see how to do that.'

'The recipient has a fairly good memory of what it said,' Jeanne explained. 'I was hoping that you might be able to find out where it came from.'

The parlour at Tiporsel House was a comfortable place to be on this chill, windy day. Barbara glanced with satisfaction at the hearty fire, and with interest at Margerit, Antuniet and Jeanne and the note they puzzled over. 'Can you tell us more about... that person?' she asked.

Jeanne put her head on one side and thought for a moment before embarking on the story. She gave a fairly full account.

'I know the Marzins a little,' Barbara said when she had finished. 'The late Baron took a keen interest in Cheristofer Marzin's travels.'

Antuniet raised her eyebrows. 'Was Maistir Marzin always in the habit of bringing sensitive information home with him along with his observations of foreign parts?'

'Sometimes they were one and the same, I suspect,' Barbara said. 'It seems to me, Jeanne, that there are two things at stake here. Firstly, the document that Cheristofer Marzin has in his possession. Secondly, your friend's reputation.'

Jeanne nodded quickly.

'Without wishing to sound callous, it's the first that concerns me more. I therefore propose to visit Maistir Marzin and warn him. His wife, too, if necessary.'

'Discreetly, I hope,' Jeanne said.

'Of course. Meanwhile, you might pursue your own lines of enquiry with regard to your letters.'

'I'll see what I can do with this note,' Margerit said doubtfully.

'I have an idea about who may be behind this.' Barbara glanced at Antuniet. Best not to mention the name now, in case she was wrong.

  
_Holy Innocents_

Iudiz Marzin was a short, plump, woman, with fair hair fading to silver in places and a face that frequently lit up in an engaging smile. It did so now.

'Baroness! What an unexpected pleasure! I'm afraid the house is all topsy-turvy, but I believe that I can find you a chair to sit on, at any rate.'

'Thank you,' Barbara said. 'I'm sorry to intrude while you're so busy.'

Maisetra Marzin dismissed that with a wave of her hand. 'What can I do for you?'

'I -' Barbara hesitated. She had a story ready about soliciting Maistir Marzin as a guest lecturer for Margerit's academy, but now, seeing his wife's shrewd glance, she made a sudden decision to jump straight to the truth. 'A certain person has been instructed to obtain a certain document belonging to your husband by persuading you to provide it to them.'

A flash of anger rose quickly to Maisetra Marzin's face, and was as quickly suppressed. 'Indeed? What document might that be?'

Barbara quoted what Tulzie had said: ' _The opinion of an influential party regarding an important question._ I don't know any more than that, I'm afraid.'

'Oh. Oh, dear.' Maisetra Marzin looked alarmed. She added, thoughtfully, 'I notice that you don't say that you don't know who the person is.'

Barbara nodded.

'Is it the Vicomtesse de Cherdillac?'

'No.' Barbara permitted herself a chuckle. 'She would have come to you herself.'

'She would,' Maisetra Marzin allowed. 'I may say that the number of potential candidates is not huge, and I shall be regarding all of them with deep suspicion. Well, I suppose I'll have to trust your judgement for the moment.'

She glanced shrewdly at Barbara. 'Do you mind if I invite my husband to join this conversation?'

'Not at all. I was hoping you would.'

Iudiz Marzin tugged on a brass bell-pull and, when a maid appeared, said, 'Would you ask Maistir Marzin to join us? Thank you.' Then, without any noticeable change in her tone, she said, 'I must say, the way the girls are wearing their bonnets these days came as rather a shock to me! Six years is a very long time in Rotenek.'

'There,' Barbara said, 'I cannot disagree with you. For my part, I think that change has generally been for the better, although I can't say much for the bonnets.'

When the door had been closed, Maisetra Marzin murmured, 'I believe that there's nothing you can say about my past that Cheristofer doesn't know or hasn't guessed. And this is important, so don't try to spare my blushes – ah, here he is!'

When Cheristofer Marzin entered the room Barbara was struck, as she always had been, by the thought that he looked exactly as one would imagine an explorer to look. He was a tall man, with a sun-bronzed face and a slightly rolling gait, as if he was still on board ship. His attire was slightly, and, Barbara thought, deliberately, behind the fashion, and he had a kindly expression that might have been mistaken for indulgence.

He said to his wife, 'What is it, my dear?' Then he saw Barbara, and bowed to her. 'Baroness Saveze. How delightful to see you again, and in such a happier state. I fear my congratulations are somewhat belated.'

Barbara curtseyed. 'But none the less welcome.'

'The Baroness has some rather disquieting news,' Maisetra Marzin said. 'Someone's after... Well, what I suspect is the Atlas, and they're trying to get it through me.'

Marzin raised his eyebrows. 'Indeed? I must confess, I hadn't anticipated that.'

'Nor had I,' said his wife. 'I think we can deal with it. Indeed, it might have possibilities.' She smiled, a wicked crooked grin that almost had Barbara blushing.

'Let's hear more about the situation.'

'You mentioned the Vicomtesse de Cherdillac earlier, Maisetra Marzin,' Barbara said. 'She was, in fact, the one who opened the question to me. A mutual friend of yours and hers had sought her advice, having been approached to relieve you of what I understand to be a particular document.'

'It must be the Atlas,' Iudiz said. 'Either that, or they're on the wrong trail entirely. “The opinion of an influential party regarding an important question,” you said, Baroness?'

'That's right.'

Maistir Marzin nodded.

'I think it must have been Tulzie Franzin,' Iudiz Marzin said suddenly. 'Ah – have I hit on the answer?'

'Merely surprise,' Barbara said blandly.

A wink. 'Will she come calling on me?'

Barbara abandoned pretence. 'The Vicomtesse says that the poor woman is terrified. But, if she does, it will be soon. The instructions that she was given told her to hand the item over at the Laflins' Twelfth Night ball.'

'So it would have to be this week,' Iudiz mused. 'Who else knows that I'm going away with you again...? No, it makes no difference; they may well be assuming that you would take the Atlas with you.'

'Why do you call it the Atlas?' Barbara asked curiously.

She had expected that the Marzins would refuse to answer that question, but Cheristofer laughed. 'Because, my dear Baroness, it carries a great deal.'

  
_King Tavit_

Antuniet looked slightly diffident, and slightly amused. 'I was going to give you this as a Twelfth Night present,' she said. 'But I fancied that it might be more useful if you had it now.'

Intrigued, Margerit opened the tiny box. A small stone set in a plain silver circle, glowing in bands sea-green and a deep chestnut brown. It gave off a very faint warmth as she moved her finger over the face of it.

'To help with discernment and direction,' Antuniet said. 'I thought it might help with the running of the academy. Now...'

'Thank you, Antuniet,' Margerit said. 'It's lovely. And the intent is very much appreciated!'

'I'm sorry I couldn't afford a chain,' Antuniet said. Margerit was not sure if she had meant that to sting.

'That doesn't matter,' she said. She reached behind her neck to remove the one that she was wearing, slipped the pendant off it, and replaced it with Antuniet's present. The effect was palpable: she felt her breathing slow, and her vision become infinitesimally sharper.

Antuniet was watching her keenly, but she said nothing.

'Thank you,' Margerit said once more.

Antuniet nodded. 'Shall we look at that note again?'

Margerit fetched it from the locked wooden box where she had been keeping it. 'I think we should try a Saint Antun on it – no, wait, what if we were to modify your charm for finding your true love?'

'Either might work.' Antuniet seemed amused.

The effect of the gem, Margerit found later, was to open to her several alternative approaches to any given problem. Where she would once have fixed upon the first solution that occurred to her, she now found herself pausing and considering other ideas. And it went some way towards allaying the irritation she habitually felt when something failed to work.

They worked for nearly two hours, trying, modifying, and discarding a motley selection of charms and minor mysteries. The identity of the sender remained stubbornly secret. But a combination of a verse from the book of Daniel combined with a charm for restoring stolen objects proved to be effective on the text of the message.

They watched in satisfaction as the words appeared on the paper, growing gradually blacker and sharper until they appeared as they must have been when Tulzie Franzin first read them.

_Maisetra Franzin -_

_\- you are bidden to obtain from Iudiz Marzin a certain document. You will presume upon your former acquaintance with her and persuade her to abstract from her husband the document that contains the opinion of an influential party regarding an important question._

_We are confident in your ability to secure this document and convey it to us._

_Should this not be delivered to our messenger – you will know him when you see him – at the Laflins' masquerade ball on Twelfth Night, the letters addressed to you by the woman who calls herself Jeanne, vicomtesse de Cherdillac, will be sent to Maistir Lindel. There will be no opportunity for you to intercept them._

_Go to the little casket where you keep the letters we have mentioned. You will see that we write the truth._

_\- the Angels_

  
_Pope Feliz_

'So,' said Iudiz Marzin, 'you'll be sending Tulzie around to me on Sunday?'

'If it's convenient for you,' Jeanne said. 'Baroness Saveze and her armin will accompany her – in disguise, of course. The New Year's Court means that the Baroness is rather busy.'

'Sunday is as convenient for me as any other day this week. Cheristofer will make himself scarce. The – ah – _replacement_ is ready. The great thing is to get it all out of the way before we leave. Although...'

Jeanne tilted her head interrogatively. 'Yes?'

'The possibility occurred to me,' Iudiz said, 'that I might remain in Rotenek after all.'

'That's what Rotenek assumes that you're doing,' Jeanne said. 'The tale that I heard was that your husband was setting a course for parts so dangerous that you could not be expected to accompany him.'

'I'd die of boredom here, and everyone knows it.' She got up from her seat and crossed to the window.

'Perhaps you will find that Rotenek still has its charms.'

She dropped the flirtatious remark in as if by rote; Iudiz paid it no heed. 'But think of this: if our unknown friend is willing to take information from Tulzie, why shouldn't I give it to them? There are some other things that I'd like to pass to anyone who's interested in our Atlas.'

'My dear,' said Jeanne, 'do you think Tulzie's conscience would stand it?'

'She needn't know that it's not the original,' Iudiz pointed out.

Jeanne laughed. 'Then what about her nerves?'

'Perhaps you're right,' Iudiz said regretfully. 'Cheristofer is always telling me that I make things more complicated than they need to be.'

'I believe they're complicated enough already!' Jeanne said.

'It is a thought, though.' Iudiz was looking out over the rain-washed street. 'Do you worry about Tulzie?'

Jeanne raised an eyebrow. 'Not in the ordinary way of things. At the moment, perhaps, a little. She's happy, Iudiz – or, at least, she could be happy.'

'That wasn't exactly what I meant,' said Iudiz. But when Jeanne asked what she had meant, she only shook her head.

  
_Saint Silvezeter_

The noise of the rain against the dark window was only partly muffled by the heavy curtains. They had retired to bed comparatively early: Antuniet sat with three pillows at her back; Jeanne was further down the bed, rubbing her feet.

'That's lovely,' Antuniet said.

Jeanne smiled up at her. 'A pleasure.'

Out in the street, some reveller let out an incomprehensible cheer.

'Another year going,' Antuniet observed. 'I wonder what's happening at court.'

'I'm happy to leave all that to Barbara. She enjoys it.'

'So do you,' Antuniet pointed out. 'You play the game of people, as much as she does.'

Jeanne smiled. 'Ah, but only if I can pretend that I play it at a distance.'

'Mm,' Antuniet said. The tone was not approving.

Jeanne knew how to interpret that. 'You think it's frivolous – cowardice – _meddling_.' She laid Antuniet's left foot gently down and shifted up the bed to sit next to her.

Antuniet sighed. 'All I want to know, Jeanne, is that when you're with me, it's the truth. I don't care about the rest of it.'

Jeanne laid a finger on the red stone at Antuniet's throat. 'You know that.'

'I know. I know.'

She tilted her face up, and Jeanne kissed her gently, once, twice. Then she tugged at the fastening of her wrapper, and Antuniet gave a little sigh as the edge of the garment brushed across her breasts.

Jeanne kissed her way down Antuniet's throat, followed the line of her collarbones with her tongue, passed the palm of her hand over the gentle swell of her belly, ran the tip of her forefinger up the inside of Antuniet's thigh until her legs fell open.

Antuniet closed her eyes in pleasure. 'I'm getting terribly lazy,' she murmured.

'You should let yourself enjoy it,' Jeanne said. And then her lips and her tongue were occupied, and Antuniet's reply was joyous and incoherent.

*

Later, she said, 'I try to do it in a good cause. That's all I can say for myself.'

'Mm,' was Antuniet's only response.

'Toneke?'

'Yes?'

'This trouble of Tulzie's. I think I may need to make my involvement more direct.'

Antuniet sat up, alarmed. 'What do you mean by that?'

Jeanne told her, and she kissed her, and lay back down again.

'You will be careful,' she said.

'I always am.'

  
_The Circumcision_

Mefro Dominique looked surprised, but not overly so. Jeanne supposed that she must have plenty of hysterical customers turning up at odd times at this time of year. 'Good morning, Vicomtesse.'

'Mefro Dominique. I'm sorry for interrupting you on a holiday, but I have a slightly unusual request to make.'

The dressmaker laughed. 'That sounds like an interesting challenge, at any rate! Come and sit down. I'll have Celeste bring some coffee.'

'Alas,' said Jeanne, 'I fear it won't be as interesting as all that. I need you to make me a copy.'

Mefro Dominique raised her eyebrows. 'Indeed! Tell me, then, what I'm meant to be copying...'

  
_Grigori the Theologian_

It was, perhaps, more consequence than Maisetra Franzin usually manifested, but it might have been argued that her forthcoming marriage to Estevart Lindel meant that she warranted a little more in the way of attendance.

Tavit sat up next to the driver, and Barbara travelled inside the carriage next to Maisetra Franzin. She had chosen her attire carefully: a hat in a somewhat masculine style, pulled well down over her hair. A dark red cape that would make her inconspicuous in the shadows, but which could be cast off in an instant if danger threatened. Beneath it, she wore a shirt and breeches, plain but well-tailored. If necessary, she could be the eccentric Baroness Saveze; if necessary, she could be a hired bodyguard.

'The moment of danger,' Barbara had said, 'will be when you come out of the house. You must wait for us and the carriage. Maisetra Marzin knows the plan, and she won't let you go before it's safe.'

Tulzie Franzin had nodded nervously. But she had entered into and emerged from the house without incident – without unplanned incident, rather, Barbara corrected herself. Iudiz Marzin had played her role with gusto, emerging out onto the steps, glancing theatrically to left and right before kissing Tulzie on the cheek and clasping her hands for rather longer than convention dictated.

Tulzie seemed mortified by the whole affair, but that in itself would go some way to convince any suspicious onlooker that matters were proceeding according to the instructions in the note.

*

Barbara studied her as they travelled back to the rather unfashionable area in which she had lodgings. She must have been about Jeanne's age, and she was not unlike Jeanne to look at, with the dark hair streaked with silver. She kept both hands clutched tight around her reticule, as if she had the real Atlas in there, not whatever the Marzins had seen fit to replace it with.

It was not until the carriage stopped outside Tulzie's lodgings that the trouble started. As Tavit slid down from the box and opened the door, three men who had been loitering in the street rushed forwards, knives glinting in their hands.

They were somewhat premature, Barbara thought. Had they waited a few seconds longer, Tulzie would have been out of the carriage and far more vulnerable. As it was, Tavit had already sent one man's knife clattering into the gutter. Barbara was stopping the other two getting to Tulzie. She stood on the step, feeling the carriage bouncing under her as she parried their attacks. The doorframe restricted her movement somewhat, but the height advantage was sufficient compensation.

One man lunged suddenly, and she felt pain streaking up her left arm. Cursing, she kicked out and saw her assailant double up. She jumped down to the ground and looked around. Tavit had taken care of the third one.

'Now,' she hissed urgently. Tulzie nodded, scrambled forward, and fell rather than stepped out of the carriage. Tavit was there immediately.

They escorted Tulzie into the house and had the landlady bring a restorative drink, but she insisted on examining Barbara's arm herself, with shaking fingers.

'I'm sorry to be such a coward.'

'Don't be,' Barbara said. 'Both of us were trained for this sort of thing. You weren't.'

'I wasn't expecting something like that. Why would they do it?' Tulzie asked.

'In case you change your mind about handing the papers over to your friend the Angel,' Barbara said briskly. 'I doubt they'll try that again. There might be an attempt at burglary, I suppose. I'll arrange to have your house watched, and I suggest you have your fiancé call on you every day. And perhaps make sure that everyone knows that you will indeed be attending the masquerade.'

'Masquerade is the right word for it,' Tulzie said. 'I shall be glad when it's done.'

*

'They were big,' Tavit remarked as they walked back to Tiporsel House, 'but they weren't clever.'

'I hope not,' Barbara said. 'I'd be happier if I could be sure they hadn't recognised me.'

'I don't believe they did,' said Tavit. 'I heard one of them say that he was surprised Maisetra Marzin could afford bodyguards of our calibre. Not that he put it like that.'

She laughed. 'I always was an expensive luxury. I'm glad you can fight dirty.'

'It's Sunday. A good day for ill deeds,' Tavit said sententiously.

  
_Saint Egenefif_

The preparations seemed to be well under way already. The evergreens in the Laflins' hall appeared to have been replenished that morning, and Jeanne noticed some large packages being carried around to the tradesmen's entrance. Waiting while Iannik took her card in, she heard the sound of frantic hammering from the ballroom.

But Egenefif Laflin, when she appeared, seemed unruffled by the bustle. 'Vicomtesse,' she murmured. 'What a delightful surprise!'

'I thought I'd come and wish you a happy name day, my dear,' Jeanne said, 'and to see whether you needed any assistance before Thursday.'

Egenefif Laflin smiled in her usual lazy manner. 'Thank you; that's very kind of you. I believe that we have everything in hand.'

'Did you manage to get Topi?'

'No, he's been engaged for one of the Guild balls, I believe. But Raffanti and his band will do admirably.'

Jeanne nodded. 'I shan't ask about your costume.'

'And I shan't ask about yours.' She dimpled. 'I dare say it will have something of the French about it.'

'Perhaps it will.' Jeanne smiled.

'I'm sure it will be very becoming, whatever it is,' Egenefif said. 'You wouldn't have suggested a masquerade to me in the first place if you hadn't had a good idea for a costume.'

'I've been telling everybody that it was all your own idea,' Jeanne said. She had thought that she had managed to persuade Egenefif of that, too, but the woman was clearly less susceptible to flattery than she had believed. 'Well, since you've been so honest, I shall, too. Mefro Dominique is working on a costume in which I may represent Cleopatra, queen of Egypt.'

'That's not French!' Egenefif exclaimed. She added, hurriedly, 'Although it will suit you beautifully.'

'My dear,' Jeanne said, 'did you never hear of Cleopatra's Needle?'

  
_Saint Angela of Foligno_

Margerit had Maitelen bring fresh bandages and then dismissed her for the evening, saying that she intended to tend to Barbara's wound herself.

'It seems to be healing well enough. I don't know whether I'm hoping that you were careless or that you were careful.' She fastened the new bandage on Barbara's arm, frowning.

Barbara lifted her elbow gingerly, and then, finding that the pain was bearable, more vigorously. 'I was careless,' she confessed. 'I shall not be so again.'

'I suppose you had to go.'

Barbara nodded. 'I was worried that Kr – that our unknown friend might try to make doubly sure, and pre-empt the handing over of the documents. As, indeed, they did. It wouldn't have been fair to expose Maisetra Franzin to that without any protection.'

'Where will Maisetra Franzin be on the night of the ball?' Margerit asked.

'Safe at home,' Barbara said. 'Either she will change her mind about the masquerade and persuade her fiancé to do so, too, or she will have a headache.'

'I wish I could persuade you to be as careful. That's twice, this year.' Margerit's severity was tempered with both affection and concern.

'And both arms. I promise not to do it again.' Barbara grinned ruefully. 'Shall we go to bed?'

Margerit succumbed all at once. She scrambled into bed and held out her arms. Barbara settled herself next to her, wincing a little.

'If I put this pillow _here_ , and bring my arm around you like this, are you comfortable?'

'Perfectly,' Barbara said. It was, for the most part, true.

'You must tell me at once if I hurt you.' Margerit leaned over to kiss her, her chestnut hair brushing Barbara's bare shoulder, and she smiled at the mixture of sternness and tenderness.

Margerit brought her hand to Barbara's lips, drawing her fingertips slowly across them. Barbara put her tongue to each of them, and, when the forefinger lingered, drew it into her mouth and sucked gently on it. She felt Margerit breathe in sharply, and stretched herself out, pressing her body close to her.

Carefully, Margerit trailed her fingers down the midline of Barbara's body. She shivered.

'Are you cold?'

'No. Enjoying this.'

'Good.' Margerit's hand stilled for a moment – Barbara held her breath – and then sped on. Barbara hooked her leg backwards over Margerit's, opening herself to her.

' _Yes_. There.'

'Mm,' Margerit said, nipping gently at the lobe of Barbara's ear, moving her hand in an insistent, relentless rhythm that built and built.

Barbara gasped, and, when Margerit stopped, gasped, 'No, keep going, it's glorious...'

Margerit shifted down, and she was bringing her other hand up between Barbara's legs, and she was inside her, she was whispering sweet words, she was moving her thumb in tight, firm circles...

Barbara cried out.

*

'Now,' Barbara said, after a few minutes, 'for you.'

Margerit rolled onto her back. 'Don't overdo with that arm.'

'I can do very well with one hand, thank you,' Barbara smiled, and set about proving her point.

  
_Saint Simeon Stylites_

Antuniet wiped her hands on her apron. 'Maistir Marzin! You're a little earlier than I expected.'

He bowed. 'I apologise if I've interrupted you.'

'Not at all.' She glanced at him. 'There's a chair by the wall there; I shall be with you as soon as I've washed my hands.'

It was the work of a few minutes to finish her task and to remove her apron. 'Now,' she said.

Cheristofer Marzin rose. 'Mesnera Chazillen.'

Antuniet cleared her throat. The role of messenger was an unfamiliar one. 'Her Grace suggested that your attending the New Year's Court might attract unwanted attention. Nevertheless, there is a gift that she is very keen that you receive before you go abroad.'

'Ah. A sample of your work, I presume?'

'Indeed.' Antuniet unlocked the cabinet in which she kept the seed stones and the successes, and took out a plain wooden box.

He took it and opened it, examining the contents with interest. 'A ring. It's a beautiful piece of work.'

'For the setting, you must congratulate Monterrez.'

'But the stone is remarkable, too. Tell me, Mesnera Chazillen, what is its intended purpose?'

'Its primary purpose is to hone your instincts, to make it easier for you to discern who can be trusted. This layer acts in a similar fashion, but you will probably experience its effects as an improvement in your hearing. And, of course, protection.'

He nodded and slipped the ring onto his finger. 'I would be most grateful if you could pass on my thanks to Her Grace for her kind thought. And accept them for yourself, too.'

  
_Epiphany_

Iulien had sulked about not being allowed to attend the masquerade ball, but not so much as to risk being sent back to Chalanz. In any case, as Margerit had pointed out, she had not received an invitation. It was a distinct relief: they had enough on their minds without having to worry about what Iuli might be getting up to.

Margerit knew that she was fooling nobody in her scholar's robes, her mask a plain black velvet domino. Barbara, too, would be easy to identify: few other women would have dared to dress as a highwayman. Besides, anyone who recognised their armins would have found it easy to draw the correct conclusion.

Antuniet had surprised them all with her announcement that she intended to attend the ball; now more than ever she had a plausible excuse to remain within doors. But here she was, dressed in the robes and armour of Minerva, her mask a cunning silvery thing that suggested at once helmet and owl's face. The Tiporsel House carriage had called for her, and her slight delay in emerging had given all of Rotenek the opportunity to see that Baroness Saveze and Maisetra Sovitre would be her only companions. She had passed on the Vicomtesse de Cherdillac's apologies to Maisetra Laflin in carrying tones.

In between her survey of the dancefloor, Barbara watched her with a care that was born partly of her past as an armin, and partly of her present as head of the house of Saveze. Antuniet watched Jeanne - Jeanne, who was dressed not as Cleopatra but in the black-and-silver motley that Mefro Dominique had copied from the costume that Tulzie Franzin was to have worn. Somewhere out at the edge of the hall Tavit and Marken were watching over all of them.

'Isn't this a pleasant evening?' Jeanne's voice sounded strange without the French accent that she had affected for so long that it had become a part of her.

'Delightful,' Margerit said, and Jeanne smiled, and curtsied, and moved on.

Barbara's scrutiny of the company seemed to have turned up what she was searching for. Her glance flitted now between Antuniet, Jeanne, and a man in a costume of white satin, with feathered wings stretched up above his shoulders.

'What...' Margerit began to say, but at that moment a man dressed as the Emperor Augustus bowed to Barbara. She seemed startled, but gave him her hand and allowed him to take her out onto the floor, her extravagant cape whirling behind her. Margerit let herself melt into the crowd, working her way steadily backwards, glancing back over her shoulder, raising her eyebrow.

Marken was there at her shoulder almost sooner than she would have thought possible. 'Maisetra?'

'I need Tavit,' she murmured.

He glanced to his right; his hands moved in the flicker of gestures that meant that the watch had been exchanged. Then he was gone, and within the space of a few seconds Tavit was there instead.

'Maisetra?'

'Can you do something for me? How well do you know the Psalms?'

He was experienced enough to be able to keep any surprise from his voice. 'Reasonably well.'

'I need you to recite, _Quoniam eripuisti animam meam de morte, et pedes meos de lapsu, ut placeam coram Deo in lumine viventium_. Just say it over and over until I tell you to stop.'

'Is this a mystery, Maisetra?'

'Yes. It's the King Tavit part of my Twelve Days mystery. I'm afraid we have to improvise.'

'Maisetra, I'm not sure...' He looked anguished. 'The Baroness...'

'Please, Tavit. This is to protect all of us.'

He looked as if he wanted to object, but he only turned to watch the activity in the hall, and all the while his lips moved in the words of the psalm.

And she murmured the words that she had prepared for a very different occasion, and saw the bright flame of _charis_ loop its way around Barbara's shoulders, then Antuniet's, and then finally wrap itself around Jeanne where she stood alone at the edge of the floor. She smiled. 'Thank you,' she said.

'It worked?' Tavit said, wonderingly.

'But what did you expect?' Margerit said.

'Maisetra,' Tavit said, and spoke volumes in that one word.

*

There was a little pattering of laughter and applause as the quadrille came to its close, and the floor cleared. As the band struck up the introduction to the waltz, Margerit found that she was holding her breath.

The man with the wings bowed to Jeanne. She gave a convincing little start and gave him her hand.

Next to Margerit, Barbara stiffened.

The waltz proceeded in an entirely unexceptional and unexceptionable fashion for the first minute. The casual observer would have assumed that the man with the wings was attempting a conversation with a shy partner. Jeanne was managing a very convincing impression of a late-blooming wallflower transplanted to an unaccustomed place.

Then he seemed to suggest that the moment had come. Jeanne said something and then put her hand to her mouth. Then, moving her hand from his shoulder, she reached into her bosom to produce a square of paper. He kept his arm around her waist, but let go of her hand to take the paper. A moment, and it had disappeared into his costume.

Whatever that document was, Margerit thought, it was not an atlas. But the little package that she received in return might well have been the letters they needed to save Tulzie Franzin's reputation.

*

The band struck up the music for the galop. The man with the wings had moved on to another partner.

'Margerit,' Barbara muttered tersely, 'I need to see who that is, and I'm sure he'll leave before the unmasking. Can you do something?'

Margerit blinked, considering. 'I can try. You'll need to get Jeanne out of the room, though.'

'Why?' Barbara asked, but she already knew. She moved with the speed and discretion of the armin she had once been; found Antuniet, whispered to her; spoke a word to Charul Pertinek, who stepped forward and offered Jeanne his arm. Margerit waited until he had escorted her out of the room, and then began.

The Epiphany section of the Twelve Days mystery had been one of the first to be composed, and Margerit had it almost by heart. She was desperately afraid that it would not work: she had to take all three of the voices herself, and they should have been men. It would not do to call upon the armins now: they had enough to think about. And she had to work far faster than she would have liked. The galop was already nearing its end.

Nevertheless, the mystery was working. The air thickened, slowed; the band performed a rallentando that had no place in the score; the dancers slowed with it, but did not know that they slowed. Margerit drew a breath, and let it go. She murmured, soundlessly, ' _Qui et illuminabit abscondita tenebrarum._ '

And time returned to normal. The _charis_ seemed to appear spontaneously this time, a glow of bright white around a few figures in the hall that gathered around the chest and then whirled upwards around the torso to form a sort of halo around the head. One woman dropped her mask, and reached for it with a sharp exclamation of annoyance. The man with whom she had been dancing looked horrified. Another tripped on a step, and her domino caught on her partner's epaulette as she fell. The Emperor Augustus' laurel wreath slipped.

As for the man with the wings, the ribbons that held his mask on seemed to untie themselves, and it fell to the floor. Alarmed, he brought his hands up to his face and glanced right and left, before dashing from the hall. The dancers scattered; the band broke off uncertainly.

Egenefif Laflin had the presence of mind to step forward. 'Ladies and gentlemen... the unmasking!'

The violinist managed a convincing flourish. Antuniet rose, and calmly removed her silver mask. Barbara and Margerit did likewise. Then they left the hall and joined Jeanne in the refreshments room, where she was examining a packet of papers.

'The tripe I used to write!' she exclaimed. 'I believe it's all here, but perhaps you might bring your talents to bear on them.'

Antuniet took the letters without any visible sign of distress, and began working over them the charm that she and Margerit had discovered. 'They seem to be genuine,' she reported. 'I would have thought that unmasking mystery would have revealed them had they not been, in any case.' She nodded, a little brusquely, at Margerit.

'It was barely more than an experiment. I didn't intend it to work on anything other than people.' Margerit turned to Barbara. 'Did you see enough?'

'Yes, but I was mistaken. It isn't the man I assumed it would be.' For a moment, her face was grim. Then she smiled. 'Well, whoever it is, whoever these Angels are, we've spiked their guns for now – and next time I'll know him.'

Antuniet yawned luxuriously. 'In that case, I suggest we all go home. These twelve days have held enough excitement to last all year.'

Margerit smiled. As if Antuniet's year wasn't bound to be exciting! 'And this year,' she said, 'I'll have the Twelve Days mystery ready.'

**Author's Note:**

>  _Quoniam eripuisti animam meam de morte, et pedes meos de lapsu, ut placeam coram Deo in lumine viventium._  
>  Verse 13 of Psalm 56, a psalm of David. 'For you have delivered my soul from death, yes, my feet from falling, that I may walk before God in the light of life.'
> 
> Qui et illuminabit abscondita tenebrarum  
> 1 Corinthians 4:5. 'He will bring to light the things hidden in darkness'.


End file.
